Entonces se encontraron. La caricatura, la mano hiriente. Como en una
partida de póker, ambas tenían que jugarse la última baraja y saber cuál de las
dos ganaría. La caricatura, con su inocencia, calidez, dulzura, o la mano
hiriente, con su fría habilidad de crear prejuicios y abarrotar toda clase de
miradas para beneficio propio.
Sucedió de pronto. La caricatura acariciaba un oso de peluche, cuando su
enemiga más cruenta, la mano hiriente, le advirtió: ¡no lo hagas!
La mano hiriente, mediocre, envidiosa, insegura, suponía que ese osito era
perjudicial para la caricatura y mataría a la niña interna que llevaba esta. La
caricatura, segura de su convicción, la miró, y no le dijo nada. Solo pensó
para sus adentros “cuanta miseria llevás”. La mano hiriente, por el contrario,
la observó detenidamente y pensó para sí “sos tan ingenua que el premio a la más
boluda te lo llevas vos”. Quizás, ambas tenían razón. Su razón de ser. Su
pertenencia, su espacio quebrado y con ganas de recuperarlo. Esa autoestima
humana tan necesaria, tan imprescindible como esquiva en algunos casos. Casos
que, como este, necesitan ser analizados por alguien más.
La caricatura, humilde, mansa, vivía un momento de felicidad, simplemente
porque ella era feliz. La mano hiriente era tan peligrosa que arrasaba con su
soberbia, displicencia, y sentía placer por la venganza. Eran tan diferentes, y
a la vez raramente complementarias. Se necesitaban la una a la otra. Pero a la
vez se tenían un profundo odio. Profundo e inevitable. Tan inevitable que
siempre terminaban tomando unos mates en el patio imaginario de la casa de los
sueños, casi sin hablar. Solo dejando que las miradas decantaran lo necesario
para que la situación no se volviera insostenible, que la caricatura con su
sana alegría no resultara empalagosa para un ente tan frio como la mano
hiriente, y que esta con su sagaz proeza de destruir todo lo que encontrara a
su paso no lastimara al puro corazón del dibujo. Era una lucha impar. A lo
mejor, quien sabe, eran una sola.
Y estaban solas. Demasiado. Como no tenían forma humana no podían darse el
lujo de llorar, eso no lo conocían. Debían conocer lo que son los sentimientos,
el abrazo, la ternura. Por eso, de repente apareció una figura humana: la
psicóloga. Ella sabia mejor que nadie como equilibrar los temperamentos de las
dos, como hacer que no se miraran con odio, que se amigaran. Por eso, de manera
aparte les propuso a la caricatura y a la mano hiriente una charla, cara a
cara, otra vez. ¿podría ser tan fácil como el simple hecho de despertarse a la
mañana? Las dos caras de la misma moneda eran ellas. La psicóloga lo sabía.
Por eso, a la hora del encuentro, mientras en el cielo llovía, la
Caricatura y La Mano Hiriente se miraron. Se olfatearon. Al principio no se
gustaron. La psicóloga estaba de mediadora en ese café imaginario y se animó a
preguntar lo que ellas no querían, o quizás no podían. Caricatura, ¿Qué querés
tener de la mano hiriente que vos no tengas? Ella la miró bien fijo a los ojos,
con un tanto de timidez, y su respuesta fue: el sarcasmo. Por su parte, la
psicóloga hizo con la mano hiriente, haciéndole la misma pregunta.
Sorpresivamente, su respuesta fue: la ternura.
Entonces, ¿Qué sucedió? Las dos se miraron con un afecto tan intenso,
doloroso y lleno de pasión, que se abrazaron. Desde entonces, ahora están
aprendiendo a gustarse una a la otra, a cooperar, a ser más solidarias y
comprenderse mutuamente. De cuando en cuando necesitan a la psicóloga. Y el
osito, pequeño, tierno, indefenso, sigue así, como la mejor demostración de la
mas sublime de las dos caras del mismo rostro.
Then they met. The caricature, the hurtful hand. As in a poker game, both had to play the last deck and know which of the two would win. The caricature, with its innocence, warmth, sweetness, or the hurtful hand, with its cold ability to create prejudices and cram all kinds of looks for its own benefit.
It happened suddenly. The caricature was caressing a teddy bear, when his cruelest enemy, the hurtful hand, warned him: don't do it!
The hurtful hand, mediocre, envious, insecure, supposed that this teddy bear was harmful to the caricature and would kill the inner child it was carrying. The caricature, sure of its conviction, looked at her, and said nothing. She only thought to herself “how much misery you are carrying”. The hurtful hand, on the other hand, looked at her carefully and thought to herself “you are so naive that the prize for the most stupid one goes to you”. Perhaps, both were right. Their raison d'être. Their belonging, their broken space and their desire to recover it. That human self-esteem that is so necessary, so indispensable and yet so elusive in some cases. Cases that, like this one, need to be analyzed by someone else.
The caricature, humble, meek, lived a moment of happiness, simply because she was happy. The hurtful hand was so dangerous that it ravaged with its arrogance, lack of care, and took pleasure in revenge. They were so different, yet so rarely complementary. They needed each other. But at the same time they had a deep hatred for each other. Deep and inevitable. So inevitable that they always ended up drinking mate in the imaginary patio of the dream house, almost without speaking. Only letting their looks decant what was necessary so that the situation would not become untenable, so that the caricature with its healthy joy would not be cloying for an entity as cold as the hurtful hand, and that the latter with its shrewd prowess of destroying everything it found in its path would not hurt the pure heart of the drawing. It was an odd fight. Perhaps, who knows, they were one.
And they were alone. Too alone. Since they had no human form they could not afford to cry, they did not know that. They had to know what feelings, embrace, tenderness are. That is why a human figure suddenly appeared: the psychologist. She knew better than anyone how to balance the temperaments of the two, how to make them not look at each other with hatred, how to make them become friends. So, separately, she proposed to the caricature and the hurtful hand a talk, face to face, again. could it be as easy as simply waking up in the morning? The two sides of the same coin were them. The psychologist knew it.
That is why, at the time of the meeting, while it was raining in the sky, the Caricature and the Hurtful Hand looked at each other. They sniffed each other. At first they did not like each other. The psychologist was the mediator in that imaginary café and dared to ask what they did not want, or perhaps could not. Caricature, what do you want to have from the hurtful hand that you don't have? She looked her straight in the eye, a little shyly, and her answer was: sarcasm. For her part, the psychologist asked the same question with the hurtful hand. Surprisingly, her answer was: tenderness.
So, what happened? The two looked at each other with such intense, painful and passion-filled affection that they embraced. Since then, they are now learning to like each other, to cooperate, to be more supportive and to understand each other. From time to time they need the psychologist. And the little bear, small, tender, helpless, remains so, as the best demonstration of the most sublime of the two faces of the same face.
Comentarios
Publicar un comentario